In the Light
by Morality Sucks
Summary: Between S5E02 and S5E05 while Sam and Dean are taking a break from hunting with each other, Dean is racked with guilt over his failure to 'save' his brother and blames himself for the coming apocalypse. When he tries to mask the feelings with alcohol and reckless demon fights, Cas has to step in to try and talk some sense into him. Dean/Cas, lotta tears and abusive John flashbacks.
1. Chapter 1

"What the fuck do you mean you 'don't know where he is'?" John Winchester's voice was low and ominous, wavering in that hot zone between speaking emphatically and yelling as he shrugged off his heavy coat and glared at his teenage son across the small, seaside themed motel room.

Dean's eyes widened, immediately registering the trouble he was in. He moved his feet off the low, light-house striped coffee table and set the TV remote down. He straightened his posture and squared his shoulders automatically under his father's dark gaze. "I- I mean I don't know where he is. I waited in front of the school where we meet and he was a no show. I went and asked his teacher, she said he left with some friends. I figured-"

"His teacher told you that?" The anger was becoming more prominent in John's body language as he stalked across the room, boots thudding heavily on the wood paneled floor. "Did you throw holy water on her? Say the lord's name, see if she flinched? Cut her with a silver blade?"

"What? Dad, no- she's like 85." He stood up as his dad approached, trying to not visibly shrink away from the haze of whiskey and condescension surrounding the older man.

"Then how could you possibly trust the information she gives you about your brother?"

"I dunno. The school board probably has rules about hiring scum suckin' agents of evil-"

It wasn't a particularly hard hit; just a backhand swing to the sixteen year old's gut. Still hard enough for him to double up and gasp for air. "Are you bein' smart with me, son?" When Dean didn't reply, he followed up with a smack to the back of his head. "Huh?"

Swallowing down a yelp of pain, Dean straightened again and fixed his eyes forward. The picture on the far wall of a blue and white lighthouse standing solidly on a jutting peninsula was nice; the ocean looked so calm and peaceful. He'd never been to a beach before, but if he ever went, he hoped the ocean matched that one. "No, sir."

"Good. It doesn't suit you."

"Yes, sir. It's just," He risked looking at John's face and found him glaring right back. "I mean, he's almost thirteen. He's gotta have some time to himself."

"I'm sorry, are you trying to tell me how to parent my child?"

"No, sir." There was absolutely nothing to be gained from pushing him any further, especially when he was like this.

"It's way too dangerous for him to be wandering around on his own, you know that."

"Yeah, but when I was his age, you were sending me out on ammo runs by myself. I just think-"

"Thinking's not for you." John scoffed. "Sam's different. Another thing you already know. How many times do we have to go over the same shit to get it through that thick head a yours? Maybe you aren't cut out to be a hunter if you can't even keep track of your own brother."

"I can't keep track of him all the damn time! I can't just be his keeper, he-" 'He's not a dog on a leash' Dean was going to say. 'He's his own person and he needs his space' he'd been trying to explain. But communication had never been his strong suit and he'd made a poor word choice.

This hit was _much _harder and not open handed. John's fist caught him on the jaw and spun him around, causing him to bang his shins on the coffee table before falling hard to his knees. He didn't even have time to register the pain before John hauled him back to his feet with an iron grip on his upper arm, jerking him around to face him like a scorned toddler.

"You're not his _keeper?_ Is that what you just said to me? Do you know what that's from? You tryin' to tell me you're Cain?" He gave him a little shake. "You gonna gank your brother if I turn my back on you?"

"What? No! I- what?" Dean's head was reeling, half confusion and half punch drunk. He cursed himself; he was such a god damn idiot, his dad was right. He was just so thick. "I'd never hurt Sammy! I'd do anything to protect him."

"Then how about starting by keepin' tabs on him?" John nearly growled, shoving him towards the door. "Get your ass out there and find him."

Dean stumbled a few steps before regaining his balance and nodding in response. He scurried quickly out the motel door, rubbing his swelling jaw as he went. He knew exactly where Sam was, had dropped him and his two friends off at the library himself and had promised him at least a few hours on his own. But John was right, he shouldn't have left him alone.

He was such an idiot.

**Fifteen Years Later: Springdale, Wisconsin**

"That the best you got, shit rooster?" Dean's cocky grin flashed brightly in the dull gray light illuminating the filthy alley as he squared his footing and flexed his already bloodied fists. One body already lay slumped against the wall behind him, and he waved forward one of the two demon's facing him down.

They both rushed just as he anticipated. Spinning, he landed a roundhouse right in the chest of the smaller, weaselly man, sending him flailing into the brick wall and only wobbling a little bit on the recovery just as the bigger one swung at his face.

It held a tiny, three inch knife in his giant hamfist, just small enough to escape Dean's notice.

He yelled when the blade tore into the forearm he'd gotten up to block, ripping through his canvas jacket and stuttering through several layers of flesh, slicing across the exposed arm with a half hearted gush of crimson. "You black eyed son of a bitch! I love this jacket."

A right hook cocked the demon's mutton-chop'd head back and Dean followed through with his left elbow, wincing from the knife wound when he slammed it into the demon's exposed throat with a sickeningly wet thunk.

The demon faltered back a step, gurgling through his collapsed esophagus, and Dean kicked his foot out, sweeping the monster's legs out from underneath him and sending him sprawling to his back.

Dean's balance wavered before he quickly pulled out the demon knife and jumped on the fallen demon, driving the blade up into his sternum with clenched teeth. The blinking spark escaped through the huge body, lighting the alley and causing a grim smirk to cover Dean's face.

The smirk disappeared when he was suddenly dragged back, finding himself restrained in an unbreakable headlock by the smaller demon. "Didn't mean to leave you out- I was getting to you!" He said, struggling violently but to no avail.

"Dean Winchester, out hunting demons by himself. And drunk as a skunk by the smell. My, my, this apocalypse really is messing with the weekly line up." This one appeared from the shadows, sauntering up to him in its attractive female meatsuit.

"Oh, great." Dean grunted, his voice strangled from the arm tightening around his airway. "Psycho-babble from a no name mook. Just when I thought my night couldn't get anymore useless."

The sequined high heels she wore were as heavy hitting as they were gaudy and Dean was left gasping from pain after the several impossibly hard kicks to his stomach.

"Can't trust the little bro out on the town after he brought about the end of life as you upright cattle know it?" She asked sweetly, grabbing his face in a hand and squeezing his cheeks tightly. "Is that why we're out playing shit faced Batman all by our lonesome?"

Dead didn't respond, glaring vehemently at the pretty redhead. Well, not _at _her so much as _into _her; at the monster possessing the poor ginger's body.

She shrugged her slight shoulders and punched him. Again and again and again. And one more time for good measure, smiling contentedly at the muffled crunch of cartiledge like a woman enjoying the aroma of her chamomile tea. "Feeling more talkative?"

Green eyes opening unevenly, one already beginning to swell shut, he blinked blearily until things came back into focus. He spat onto the ground, a gloopy trail of blood and spit falling from his lip to his chin, and grinned; every tooth outlined starkly in red. "You hit like a girl."

An inhuman growl escaped her pretty mouth and she lunged at him, acrylic nails held out like claws.

Feeling the arms around him slacken in anticipation of the attack, Dean slammed his head back into the face of the demon holding him and threw all his weight back, catching it off guard enough to make it stumble. He brought his legs up and slammed them into the bitch, sending her to the dirty ground.

He ignored every jolting flash of pain tearing through his body as he twisted out of the demon's grasp, pulled a battered flask out of his pocket and splashed the contents across either of his attackers.

While they shrieked in pain from the holy water, he scrambled over to the empty meatsuit, yanked out the knife and tackled the female. He rammed it up through her jaw, felt it rip into the roof of her mouth and twisted the wooden handle as it entered her brain.

Jerking it free, he rolled to his back and launched it at the last one, embedding it right in his chest even before the bitch was done sparking out. The lights from their crackling deaths died out and Dean was left panting in the dark.

He eased himself to his feet, wincing at what felt like a couple broken ribs and a twisted ankle. So he hadn't counted on the fourth one showing up, that was a little tight, but whatever. It worked out okay.

Limping over to the last body, he pulled out the knife and wiped it on the guy's cargo pants before sliding it into his coat pocket. He picked up the nearly empty flask of holy water, exchanging it for the sturdier flask of whiskey in an interior pocket that he promptly drained the contents of.

The temporary buzz of victory had vanished almost as fast as the demons' sparks had died out and it left him with nothing but a bitter, empty burn and the desire for more booze. And another fight.

"Dean."

He spun around, crouching defensively at the low, angry voice.

At the tight entrance of the alley, back-lit by the pallid yellow street light pooling across the crumbling pavement, Castiel stood still as a picture, arms straight at his sides and shadows covering his eyes.

"Oh, hey, man." Dean straightened, alarm disappearing. "I was just about to find a bar, you want a drink?"

"You have had enough to drink tonight." His voice was exactly as loud and impassive as always, yet the anger in it was impossible to miss.

Dean cave him a sloppy, careless grin as he approached, forcing the limp away now that there was someone around to see. "Well we can't always see eye to eye, huh? How the hell did you find me, anyway? I thought my full bone tat kept me off angel radar."

There was still blood across the human's lips, now dried and cracking, and Cas felt that the grin did nothing to detract from it. "It _does._ I have physically searched every part of this poorly maintained town looking for you." Every word was emphasized darkly, and when Dean moved to step around him to exit the dank alley, Cas caught his wrist and held him in place. "What do you think you're doing out here, Dean?"

The smile, nothing more than the most surface of expressions to begin with, melted away into the darkness clouding his eyes and the bruising still developing across his light skin. "My _job._ The hell do you think _you're _doing?" He tried to yank his hand away, but he couldn't even move it.

With a twist of his hand, Cas turned Dean's arm over to expose the ragged slash mark in his coat, now sopping wet with blood from the open wound underneath. He stared at it accusingly. "Your job is not to get exceptionally drunk and pick reckless fights with no one to assist should you find yourself in distress. So I repeat-" He threw his hand back as if disgusted by the sight and turned his piercing blue gaze to Dean's eyes. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Hey, you are _not _in charge of me. You can't even pretend to boss me around now that you've given the heavenly horde the big fuck-you-very-much."

"I am not trying to boss you around. I-"

"Great, then get the hell outta my way." Dean forced a smile and stepped around him, trying to shoulder him to the side as he went.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, Cas took one step back into the thickening shadows of the alley and pushed Dean against the wall. "Two fractured ribs, one broken. A bruised lung and slight internal bleeding. A dislocated, floating metacarpal and four jammed knuckles. A chipped molar, severed sinew and muscle in your left arm and a severely sprained ankle. You're losing blood as we speak. Dean-" He spat out his name like a curse and clenched his teeth in an attempt to quell the sudden uprising of anger he felt. When that didn't work, he slammed his balled fist into the wall above Dean's shoulder. The human flinched as mortar and brick dust rained over him. "You know I can't heal you right now. I. Am _not. _Trying to order you around. I am _concerned._"

"Why do you care?" Dean asked bitterly, glaring at him.

There was pain on his face and in his eyes. Pain reverberating through his deep voice. But it was so much deeper than what was visible; indeed, Castiel felt the physical injuries were an ill attempt to mask the suffering he saw now.

"I have no one left to care for _but _you."

Dean swallowed and broke the eye contact. "I was just blowing off some steam, Cas. There's no shortage of demons to take it out on, what with the friggun' end of the world right around the corner."

"This is _not _therapeutic." Cas' frown deepened, but he released Dean's shirt, letting his hands drop back to his sides. "It's self destructive and dangerous. I can not stand by and allow it to happen any longer. Ever since you and your brother took leave of each other-"

"I don't want to talk about Sam." He muttered. Eyes downcast, he pushed past Cas and tried to stride towards the street, but it turned quickly to a labored, unbalanced gait. Just as he approached the exit, Cas flickered in front of him. He stopped, the toes of his stained boots even with the sharp line of shadow cast from the building between himself and the nearest street light.

"You are not responsible for his decisions."

"You're kidding, right?"

The glower on his face said he clearly was not.

Dean took a deep breath, feeling the cool air twist down his throat, his expanding lungs pressing painfully against his injured ribs. "Alright. Listen, because I'm only gonna explain this once. I fucked that kid up so bad, he'd go to a demon's bed just to avoid me. I don't mean that in the metaphorical 'she was a real hell bitch and I hated the passive aggressive comments she made at dinner' way. I mean a literal black eyed, evil servant of Lord Satan himself. That's how shitty of a brother I am." His olive drab eyes were wide and gleaming, light reflecting off unshed tears. He swallowed, struggling to maintain his usual stoicism, and the shine disappeared. "So no, I didn't make the Emmy winning decision for him, but I sure as shit helped influence it." Despite his reticence on the subject, once he started talking, it was hard to stop; the words pouring out of his mouth like the black smoke of a demon abandoning its human host.

Cas had listened patiently, but his frown had deepened. There was a flurry of shadows behind him; the intangible quality of his wings made them nearly invisible unless viewed from just the right angle, and they could now be seen stretching above his head as the dim light cast a yellow aura around his slim frame. "No."

"Awesome. Am I gonna be charged the full hour for this psychiatric eval? Because I'm just not sure my insurance will cover it."

"I'm sorry. I don't have a response that wouldn't turn your anger towards me. But… Maybe it is better placed there than turned inward." He tilted his head, speaking the last sentence softly as if to himself. The wings disappeared and a new calmness seemed to wash over the angel. "You are responsible for your own actions and your own decisions, as is your brother. This," He waved his arm vaguely, indicating the current human condition. "Is not on you."

Dean scoffed and turned away, pacing back a ways, retreating into the darkness. Every step shot a tingle of pain up his leg, but he didn't mind. In fact, he almost appreciated the relief of some of his brain cells having to focus on the throbbing sprain rather than the emotional conversation. "I guess conveniently looking past negative events comes with the angel territory, huh? Remember who kick started this crazy train? I broke the first seal, and I drove Sam to break the last. And torturing innocent souls to save myself a little heartache is a helluva lot worse than-"

"Dean, stop!" Cas' voice wavered to a yell and he strode after him, catching his upper arm in his hand. "Just… Stop." He was so conflicted by the emotions swirling through his mind and so overwhlemed by the relatively new experience of confronting them; it would be so much easier to leave this dark, forgotten part of civilization and turn a blind eye to Den's actions. But _something _needed to be said. A great many things, actually. "Thirty years. You underwent unimaginable suffering and pain, pain literally too great for nearly all mortal minds to comprehend, for thirty years. Giving in after that is not the same as willingly pursuing and seeing through actions you have been warned multiple times and by multiple people against."

He shrugged, wrenching his arm away. "Thirty years, whoop-de-fuckin'-do. My dad held out indefinitely while he was on the rack. If I had a sack half as big as him-"

"No… He didn't." Cas interrupted, a confused frown covering his face.

"What? That's what Alastair told me. Said they only started in on me because he wouldn't cave." Dean looked at him over his shoulder, popped collar blocking the upset tilt of his mouth from view.

"And you believed him?" Cas shook his head, squinting at him. "John Winchester was never the Righteous Man. He would never have been offered that deal. It was _always _you."

"How do you know he wasn't?"

"Dean, every second that you suffered in hell, I was battling my way to you. As were many of my brothers. I- _we, _all had very clear orders and a very clear goal. To save Dean Winchester's soul. You and your brother were destined as parallels to Michael and Lucifer thousands of years before you were born. John had no bearing on that beyond fathering you. Alastair lied to increase your suffering because that's what he _does._"

Snow had finally pushed through the soupy gray mess of clouds squatting possessively over the small town and thick, wet flakes began stuttering silently to the ground around them. Dean's vision swam unevenly from the alcohol and blood loss as he followed the fitful path of a snowflake up above the rooftops, fluttering to the slick concrete and disappearing on contact.

When the human remained silent, Cas sighed and placed his hand gently on his hunched shoulder. "I don't mean to upset you further, I'm only trying to explain that the first seal was not your fault. You held out much longer than anyone had any right to expect of you."

"Doesn't matter. I still pushed Sam into that mess with Ruby, the last seal was still my fault."

"No. For the last time, he is responsible for his own actions."

"It's easy to say that, but… Sam's different. My whole life, my dad gave me one very clear order, and I failed it just like the idiot he always said I was."

The alley was thrown into complete darkness when Castiel's wings flared to their full, frightening extent and their opaque outlines filled the entrance and curved over the gap between the rooves, blocking all of the light. "Your father was a selfish drunk who deserved his stay in hell for the way he treated you."

Lips curling in an immediate snarl, Dean didn't even think about his movements as he turned and threw his fist as hard as he could with all his weight and every ounce of strength he had left at Cas' rage-filled glare and sorrowful frown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Seventeen Years Ago**_**  
**_

The rumbling, muted growl identified the Impala long before its sleek, black body rounded the corner and slid smoothly into the empty parking lot of the Hermes Motel; blue moonlight dancing across sterling chrome accents before she came to a stop under the opaque shadows of the surrounding buildings.

Sam was waiting in front of the one occupied room, impatient anger evident in his hazel eyes and forced stance made much less intimidating by his slight frame. At ten, he wouldn't hit his considerable string of growth spurts for another six or so years. He raised one eyebrow in surprise at the sight of his brother stepping out of the driver's door. Worry eclipsed his expression. "Is he hurt?"

Pocketing the keys, the fourteen year old turned to him with a distant frown. He shook his head. "Well, not really. He got knocked around a bit when he picked a fight with some yokels, but he'll be fine when he comes to."

The concern bowed out respectfully to the anger on the youngest Winchester's face. "He promised he'd come back in time for my tournament! That was yesterday, Dean!"

Grimacing, Dean didn't for a second miss the underlying accusation. John had flippantly made the promise, but he wasn't the one Sam had expected to see it through. The back door of the Chevy swung open silently on its pristine hinges. "I tried, Sammy! I swear I did. You know how he is when he gets a lead on It."

It.

The yellow eyed demon.

The only driving force either boy had known their entire lives.

"Uncle Bobby was here, right?" Dean spoke quietly as he leaned into the back seat over his father, trying to not inhale the sour burn of cheap whiskey and sweat filling the cab as he checked his breathing and pulse.

"Yeah, but that's not the point. He left a couple hours ago, by the way. Said he'd come back if you guys didn't show after all."

"Good." Hooking his hands under the big man's arms, Dean grunted as he dragged him slowly from the car. Once he had him nearly sitting up, Dean positioned himself under his father's arm and hauled him to his feet.

Staggering under the dead weight of an unconscious adult more than twice his size, Dean made his way unsteadily to the room. "Get the door."

Sam scoffed even has he moved to help him. "Dean, you were gone a week!" The lecture didn't stop as Sam held the door, allowing the pair to cut an ungainly path into the small, cluttered room.

"I'm sorry." His voice was quiet and strained, that same far away frown on his pale face. When he tried to ease John into one of the disheveled twin beds, Dean's balance wavered under the shift of his excessive burden and both of them dropped hard to the unforgiving mattress. After he stood up and yanked off the older man's mud stained combat boots, tossing them to the wood paneled floor with two dusty thuds, he turned around and Sam got a good enough look to finally read the obvious signs of exhaustion mapped across his brother's appearance.

His dark blond hair stuck out in messy clumps, matching his rumpled, unlaundered clothing perfectly. Inky smudges brushed below his eyes like shadows of the sleepless nights that caused them, darkening the irises to a dusky forest brown. The fair skin of his face was pallid and waxen, freckles across his nose and cheekbones standing out starkly. But not as starkly as the bruises.

Sam had seen his father injured enough to know they were no more than a few hours old; deep maroon blotching speckled with painful looking blue stretched from the faintly swollen hinge of his jaw to the corner of his eye. "Did you get in a fight, too?"

"He didn't wanna let me drive." Dean replied simply.

Shock mingled with rage on the young brunette's face. He'd seen John cuff the older boy before, seen him swat Dean open handed on the back of the head, but never anything that would result in the obscene bruising now marring his detached expression. "Dean! Why didn't you- you should have…" Sam trailed off before turning on his heel and moving towards the bedside table. "I'm calling Bobby."

"Sam, no!" He caught Sam's arm, stopping him before he could reach the phone. "He was wasted, alright? He'd just stumbled outta that bar fight. He was still thinkin' like he was fighting, that's all. I woulda left him alone, but I couldn't…" He swallowed. "I couldn't let him drive like that."

"Is that supposed to make it okay?!" Hands balled into little, defiant fists at his side, Sam didn't bother to keep his voice down now.

Normally, Dean would have yelled right back. Made a joke with a sardonic smile and told Sam he was being a bratty little bitch, maybe ruffle his shaggy hair playfully just to piss him off. Instead, he shied away, like the raised voice hurt. Which, Sam supposed it could. With bruising like that, he probably had one hell of a headache to match. "You don't understand. We ran that lead through four, five states only to find the guy dead in an alley. You know how he gets about It."

"Yeah, we both know how he gets about that stupid demon and his stupid revenge plan-"

"Shut up, Sam." Dean said, unable to keep himself from turning a wary eye on the comatose hunter, ensuring he wasn't awake to overhear the exchange and react as Dean suspected he would.

"No, Dean, I won't shut up!" Sam snapped. "And maybe for once, you _shouldn't _shut up! Why do you let him get away with everything? Why do you let him go on these crazy trips-"

"Let him?!" Dean's voice cracked lightly, wavering to the higher pitch of a boy's in his emotional response. "I don't _let him _do anything!"

"Yes you do. You're the only one he listens to. You're the favorite."

The faint ringing in his ears that had plagued Dean on the drive home was back, and he had to resist the urge to grab Sam by the shoulders and scream in his face. How could he possibly think Dean was the favorite? That he had any sway over their stubborn, unreachable father?

Sam was still yelling, the note of accusation stronger than ever. "Are you just too dumb to get when he's being a dick to us? If you spoke up once in awhile, maybe we wouldn't be so miserable all the time! Maybe we could at least _pretend _to have normal lives for a little while."

"… We aren't miserable _all _the time." His voice a low, murmured mixture of defensive sadness and hurt.

"… Maybe you're not." Folding his arms, Sam turned away from him and marched over to the empty bed. Climbing under the covers, he pulled the floral duvet up to his chin and glared at the wall, careful to keep his back to Dean. "You're a coward, Dean."

He stared at the angry set of his little brother's shoulders for a moment, feeling an irrational urge to go curl up next to him, hold his hand reassuringly like he used to when they were younger and John's 'breaths of fresh air' had first begun to stretch inexorably into lonely, frightening nights alone in unfamiliar motel rooms. "I know." He whispered.

Dean shuffled slowly to the light switch by the door, casting all of the Winchesters into darkness with a flick. All but collapsing onto the short, hard couch in front of the tv, he pulled his too-big leather coat around himself like a blanket and for the umpteenth time, tried to project one of the vague, fuzzy memories of his mother tucking him in onto the backs of his tightly clenched eyelids. Tears tracked cool lines down the throbbing warmth of his still swelling cheek.

"_Never forget that there's angels watching over you, baby." _

**Now**

The punch hurt Dean's hand, but not as much as he'd expected. Not as much as he remembered hitting an angel hurting.

When Cas turned his head back from the blow, Dean saw that there was a split on the edge of his bottom lip, but his expression was unsurprised and mournful.

"Don't talk about him like that." Dean said, his voice low and gravely in his sore throat.

Cas shrugged wordlessly.

"You got nothin' else?"

"I don't feel the need to debate facts." As he watched the anger and hatred rise on his friend's face, Cas felt his stomach twist in an unfamiliar manner, as if from mortal ailment, but it was exactly the reaction he had anticipated and he held fast. "Even if you discount the physical abuse, the arrant neglect and constant emotional harassment has continued to effect you even as an adult free of his tyranny-" The blow to his gut hurt enough to end this dialogue and the fist against his jaw literally closed his mouth mid sentence.

"Shut the fuck up!" Dean snapped, clenching his teeth despite the ache from his jaw. "You have no right- you don't know shit about my dad."

"I know that you deserved better."

"No. I- I… He did the best he could. Losing my mom changed his entire world. "

Focusing on a spot over the hunter's shoulder, Cas swallowed, preparing himself for the next set of distasteful words he was about to deliver and the expected reception. "Shameful if true. The death of a wife is crushing, but no excuse for forgetting about the welfare your remaining family."

"He didn't forget about us."

"The phrase 'bare minimum' comes to mind."

Dean punched him several more times, hard enough to force him back a step. Cas allowed none of the minor pain caused to reflect on his face and made no move to block them, arms remaining stiffly at his sides.

"You just gonna stand there and take it?" Dean growled. "Huh?" The distant, apathetic frown on the angel's face enraged him and he did his best to wipe it away with his balled fists. "Fight back!"

"No."

"Come on," With a snarl on his lips, Dean shoved him as hard as he could, watching him stumble silently backwards. "Hit me, you son of a bitch!" He spread his arms wide.

"I refuse to harm you to fulfill this misguided craving for penitence."

Face twisted in anger, Dean pushed him again, forcing him back yet another step. "Get off your holier than thou high horse. You're not even an angel anymore, so can it with the sermon."

Cas' carefully held, expressionless mask flickered. "…I _am _still an angel. I've been cut off from Heaven, perhaps, but I still serve the Lord with all my heart."

"Oh, yeah. The _Lord_. Hey, my dad might've had his share of problems, but at least he was around _some _of the time." Dean said with a cruel smirk. "When was the last time you actually saw yours, again? Oh, that's right. Never."

Despite his attempts to ignore Dean's obvious digs, Cas huffed out an angry breath. "Your attempts to antagonize me into reciprocating violence are childish and spiteful."

The angel stared plaintively until Dean broke eye contact. The low thrum of pain from his ribs and head had traveled down to mingle pleasantly with the sting in his leg. No, not pleasantly, the other one- soul crushingly horrible. "Don't talk shit unless you've got the balls to back it up."

"My pacifism has nothing to do with testicular size, I assure you. I could break your neck with one hit but I am not going to it just to prove I can. Please stop pacing, you're aggravating the damage to your ankle."

Dean snorted, turning away to glare broodingly at the slightly paler patch of overcast clouds that marked the moon's half-hearted attempt to lighten the sky. "Christ, why do you care so much?"

"Because you're my best friend." Cas answered shortly.

Like the flakes of snow that pelted fiercely to the ground only to melt on the too-warm asphalt, his anger at the angel had flurried quickly before disappearing and leaving no trace of its existence. He scoffed. "You have terrible taste in men, Cas." He forced an unconvincing laugh. "Maybe Hell isn't the best place to pick your friends."

"And Heaven is?"

Dean actually smiled at that; a quick little smirk that sent a sharp sting through his split lip.

While the human continued to stare silently at nothing in particular, Cas steeled himself and lightly touched his arm. "Dean. Every soul I encountered in the pit was in varying degrees of irreversible depravity, as twisted as the demons that tormented them. Not you. You were… you were shining so bright, I was nearly blinded."

"Oh, come on!" His face contorted in disgust. "Cut the inspirational bullshit or you'll have to add 'uncontrollable vomiting' to my list of injuries."

"I don't care if you believe me or not, but it's true. Why do you think I was so enamored by you?"

"My incorrigible charm and Val Kilmer-like lips?"

Cas continued as if uninterrupted. "I've spent millions of years monitoring humans and I've never encountered a soul like yours. That is exactly why it _infuriates me _to see you do this level of destruction to yourself and take blame upon blame for actions you are not responsible for."

"Awesome. You know, this sappy intervention crap would sound a helluva lot better over a cold beer. And maybe we could find a karaoke bar, so we could take turns singing TLC songs to each other and wait for our periods to sync up."

"I have confidence in you seeing beyond the seeming hopelessness of this situation, Dean."

"Do you have confidence in rainbows and sunshine, too?"

He frowned. "I, yes, I suppose I do. Anytime precipitation falls in just the right way to facilitate the refraction of-"

Dean grinned. "Cas, no, I was joking."

"Your jokes are lost on me, just say what you're thinking."

Dean turned to him, ironic glimmer of forced humor slipping from his bruised face. "What I'm thinking? I'm thinking… I'm thinking what complete horse shit that brightest Who in Whoville spiel is. Even if you're telling the truth, it's just because I'm that flaming bag of archangel turds' vessel. It probably glows on me like destiny's own kick me sign. Because other than that, I've got nothing going for me. I'm a decent hunter, but I'm not that clever and I've got the heart of a coward-"

"No. That, that's the real… horse shit." As usual when he tried to mimic Dean's speech, the curse sounded odd and out of place coming from the angel; like a three year old dropping an f bomb. "You believe those things because _some people _have said them to you so much, it seems like fact." The emphasis on 'some people' left no question that there were specific people in mind, but naming them may not be constructive at this time.

"But I am a coward. You know, there was a tiny part of me back there that really hoped one of those black eyed cock suckers would get in a lucky shot and I'd end the night boots up in the morgue. That's, like, the definition of coward."

Cas stared at him, wide blue eyes hooded by his deeply furrowed brow. "Why?"

"Because why _not?" _He couldn't keep looking into those reservedly appalled eyes. "It doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

Swallowing hard, hoping to choke back the sudden roaring uprise of emotion, Dean readjusted his footing and blinked at the ground. "I can't… keep doing this. I can't just go on like the world isn't ending and everything I care about hasn't already gone to hell! Literally." He glanced surreptitiously at Cas' face, expecting to see disgust and shame, or even worse, pity. Instead, he met an unwavering gaze regarding him with nothing but patient, sincere understanding. So he kept going. "All my life, I… Sam's always been there and he's always… I can't _trust him _now and I hate myself for that. Just another thing I fucked up."

Slowly, Cas nodded. "You'll forgive him when you need to."

"That supposed to make me feel better?" Dean said with a scoff, shaking off the comforting touch even though he had the strangest desire to wrap it in both of his own bloodied and sore hands. "It doesn't matter if we never hunt together again. Cas, I'm so… tired. I don't want to do any of this anymore. I can't-"

"You _can _go on." Cas said this as surely as stating a fact. "You can because you have to, and if there's one thing Winchesters all seem capable of doing, it's rising to the occasion.

It was weird hearing the usually laconic angel talk so freely and personally. Weird but strangely familiar; like they were childhood friends that used to talk endlessly but had both forgotten each other completely save for the easiness in their companionship.

"That's easy for you to say, you still have your father." Dean finally replied quietly. "You have something to keep you going. I don't have… anything left that I can believe in."

So many replies flitted through Cas' mind, all considered immediately with the speed of a super computer and all rejected just as fast from his awkward confusion at the unfamiliar role of emotional comfort. "You can believe in yourself, like I do. And… you can believe in me." What he didn't say was that his own faith in his father had been waning uncertainly like the slow change in weather of shifting seasons, where his faith in Dean had only solidified.

Dean quirked a single questioning eyebrow, causing an internal flush of inexplicable embarrassment to overcome Cas. "I mean you can trust I won't leave, or give up on the cause." It sounded lame to Cas even as he said it, but the human showed no signs of mockery.

"Thanks, Cas." Dean couldn't think of what else to say. When he looked at Cas, he saw the cut on his lip and tiny drizzle of blood that escaped his nose, and he felt like a dick. He'd hit him so many times; taken so much aggression out on him like a punching bag that couldn't feel and only now did the rational part of his mind remind him that the angel was cut off from most of his power. He'd felt them and never made a move to stop it.

The familiar feverish tingle of guilt crawled through Dean's mind and all at once he was aware of how god damn cold it was and how much he hurt. He really hurt, all over, and felt an overwhelming desire to drop to the dirty ground and sleep. A bitter rush of wind cut through the alley, tearing at the clothing of the two men cloaked in its shadows.

After some time, Cas finally spoke again. "Will you please go to the hospital?"

For awhile, Dean didn't answer, just stared at the flurries of snowflakes dancing around the wall of light at the mouth of the alley. "Will you go with me?"

In what seemed like an extremely impulsive move from the reserved angel but had in reality been considered and reconsidered more times in the last four minutes than he could literally count, Cas reached out and gently grasped Dean's hand, mindful of the scrapes and swelling joints. "Yes."

Surprise nearly made Dean jerk his hand away, but the warmth and comfort stilled him. His head was swimming and when he turned to the other man, what little light around them seemed to seep from his vision. He opened his mouth to apologize, or to thank, or to do something else that was no more than a half formed thought of warmth and lips, but before he could do anything the world blinked out.

With a worried little gasp, Cas moved quickly, wrapping his arm around the bigger man's shoulders and stopping his fall before he could hit the ground. Head lolled back and both arms trailing in the dirty slush that had begun to form on the asphalt, Dean had passed out completely. Snowflakes brushed his face and caught in the creases of his clothing; a few stuck delicately to his long eyelashes.

Cas bent low enough to slide an arm under the back's of his legs and stood up effortlessly, Dean's head laying against his chest. With a flutter of bird wings, the alley was empty.

**The Next Morning**

It was 5:37 am according to the dully flashing dashboard clock on the battered '95 Taurus Sam threw into park and jumped out of at the visitor's parking lot of Springdale General Hospital. He walked quickly through the automatic sliding doors and made a bee line for the registration desk.

"Yeah, hi, I'm here to see a… a Syd Barrett?"

The man at the desk blinked slowly up at him from the crumpled crossword in his hand. "Visiting hours are over-"

"No! I don't care what visiting hours are, I need to see him!"

"Sir, unless you're immediate family or a… spouse?"

Sam ignored the suggestive expression. "Immediate family, I'm his brother. I'm his emergency contact. I'm his _only _family, and I need to-"

"Well you can't be his only family, he's already got a brother in there with him."

Speechless, Sam gaped at the little man. "I- he can't, are you sure that's the right patient you're thinking of?"

The nurse shrugged. "You don't have to believe me. Show me some ID and I'll let you in."

Still frowning and anxious about the shape he was about to find his brother in, Sam rounded the corner of the small ICU wing to the hall where he'd been directed. He came face to face with a stony, unmoving figure in a wet trench coat.

"Sam. You're here." There was obvious disapproval in Castiel's deep voice.

"Yeah, I'm Dean's emergency contact- what's going on? Where's Dean?" He peered past the angel, easily able to see the private room behind him over the shorter man's head.

Dean lay in the bed, obscured by the numerous machines and medical equipment strapped to him. He was obviously still unconscious.

"He passed out from blood loss caused by severe internal injuries. He'll be fine and your presence here is not necessary."

"What? From hunting?"

Cas' eyes narrowed. "From hunting alone."

The relief Sam felt at hearing Dean was going to be okay from an expert he could unquestionably trust balked at the note of accusation in the angel's voice. "Are you blaming _me _for this?"

"No. You can go now, I'll watch over him."

"You're mad." Sam said, pursing his lips. "At me or at him?"

Cas folded his arms and stared up at Sam wordlessly.

"You think I should make nice and go back to hunting with him like he doesn't treat me like an ex con?"

"I think he needs you, and not having you there is going to kill him."

Sam was silent, shocked by the candor and unexpected statement.

"That does not mean I approve of the way you treat your brother; far from it. But none of that is my business. I think he needs you more than even he realizes." Cas' voice was as regretful as it was sincere.

Shifting his footing, Sam stared from Cas to the prone form of his brother, pale and sickly under the fluorescent glare of the hospital lights. "You think I should… hang around until he's awake and then apologize?"

Shaking his head, Cas looked over his shoulder at the man in the bed. "I think you need to leave."

"But, I-"

"You need to go. And in a few days when he calls you, because _he will, _when he calls you, you need to accept whatever apology he has. No stubborn refusals and no petty attempts to fight."

After a few moments, Sam put his hands into his pockets and nodded. Cas turned and walked back into the room and Sam turned to leave.

He glanced back at the comatose Dean one last time before walking off; just in time to watch Castiel sit stiffly on the chair next to the bed and take Dean's closest hand in both of his, concern painted more clearly across his face than any other emotion Sam had seen there.


End file.
